white
by flamboyant-lester
Summary: Summery: Phil's never been more confused about everything, especially the when it's cold out and there's a boy who looks like a blizzard talking in tones of snowflakes. Or the one where Phil's floating through life detached and Dan has white hair. Word count: 17k Also this is phan


Word count: 17k

Disclaimer: profanity, slight homophobia, alcohol, some sexual themes (nothing graphic), mentions of suicide, angst, fluff, fantasy?, idk what this is, also i'm american and have no clue where this takes place,

Summery: Phil's never been more confused about everything, especially the when it's cold out and there's a boy who looks like a blizzard talking in tones of snowflakes. Or the one where Phil's floating through life detached and Dan has white hair.

...

...

They meet on one of the colder days in the fall, when Phil's breath curls up past his nose and his cheeks tint pink.

He is overcome with the sensation of boredom, and it's starting to make him go mad. He decides he needs to step out for some air, so he pulls a jacket over his shoulders, and a hat onto his head.

The third step on his front porch has a faulting corner and the pavement has never looked so deserted. He walks with his hands in his pockets and an empty voice buzzing behind his ear.

He'd be right to think of the voice as a conscious, one that only mumbles incoherent sentences when it's needed most, and one that screams strings of words, loud and clear whenever Phil's alone. Overall, it's a pretty useless part of his brain and he thinks it might be broken.

It's not screaming today, today it's gibberish and causes Phil to look at the possibility that he might be insane.

But there's a forest with branches that tangle near the tops and hallowed leaves that dust the ground, filling with snow.

It's there where Phil finds a boy.

They stand leveled to each other, the boy wears black jeans and a thinning hoodie.

His hair is white and it makes the snow look gray while his is skin even more pastier than Phil's.

Phil inhales sharply when they make eye contact.

He could possibly overlook the frosted hair, or even the boys colorless complexion.

But when their eyes meet, it's less like ice and more like a blizzard.

All the warmth on earth definitely descends into the ground until it's reaching the fiery lava that is the earth's core. Everything is left cold.

Phil swallows.

And to occupy the use of his eyes, he glances at the boy's hoodie. Phil lets the voice use his mouth, even though it hasn't stopped speaking in tones of garbage.

"Aren't you cold?" he blurts.

He feels stupid. The voice doesn't stop, and the boy's attention doesn't shift. Phil is frozen, trapped in a glacier.

"No," the boy says hesitantly, his voice melting into the wind.

"Oh," he wants so badly to untangle from his eyes, "I'm Phil."

He's not so sure why he allows his name to slip from his lips. Though he's not so sure why he allows himself to do half of the things he does.

"I don't care," is the boy's response.

The voice screams. Phil tries to maintain his insides, biting down harshly on his tongue.

A shift in the atmosphere causes the boy to look elsewhere and Phil to let go of the breath he's been holding.

The boy opens his mouth but closes it. Then he's walking off, out of sight, without any sort of indication.

Phil's mouth feels dry and his lips are cracked as he finds himself completely alone.

"Nice to meet you." he says. The voice doesn't stop screaming.

...

...

Phil doesn't think too hard about the exchange, and honestly, it's because he really doesn't care.

"So, I'm pretty sure Brooke is into you."

Phil turns his head and Devon is sitting next to him. Phil would be lying if he said this statement sounded more like a line from a fantasy novel.

"No, we're just good friends." Phil retorts slowly, his voice merging into something that resembles fortification, Devon rolls his eyes.

"Whatever," he slumps down into his seat, but Phil is not letting it go.

"Where did you even hear that from?"

"Brittney, duh," Devon says, "she said, and I quote, 'If that pussy doesn't ask her out by the end of the month, I'm going to cut off his dick because he obviously doesn't know how to use it.'"

"That's a bit graphic."

"It's Brittney, what do you expect?" Devon doesn't sound very amused, and it's clear as he tuts his words and slumps his shoulders. He puts his elbows on the table and shoves his lunch away.

"You having uh- complications?"

"She has it out for me man. I swear to you she's going to devour my soul."

"Why don't you break up then?" Phil asks in a way where he's mocking himself, for he knows better because Devon and Brittney are virulent and it's clear to the mice in the gutters and the birds in the sky.

Because even after seven failed breakups, if Phil were to voice his opinion on the matter, well, it'd be like talking to a brick wall. A brick wall that just might happen to crumble down upon him and crush every bone in his body.

"Have you seen that ass?" Devon says, and now he's joking, because some nights when one of their fights have climaxed to breakup status, he calls Phil and he can't breathe.

Phil rolls his eyes and eats his sandwich.

"So what are you gonna do about Brooke?" Devon asks just as Phil takes a bite. He almost groans but slides Devon a look. Phil attempts to swallow without chewing.

"Am I supposed to do something?" Crumbs fall down his chin.

"Well duh, were you even listening? And I mean come on- Brooke is totally hot."

"You're such a pig," fondness sweeps past Phil's lips as the corner of his mouth tugs up.

"And you're not?"

"Nope," he finishes off the sandwich and leaves.

...

...

Phil is starting to think this whole Brooke thing isn't actually a hoax.

She hangs on him when they go for dinner. Devon casually slides down a seat, making just enough room for Brooke to sit next to Phil.

Devon is apparently his wing man, as he put it.

He interrupts each conversation with something like, 'Phil got an A on that test, didn't you Phil? 'Phil absolutely adores that band, isn't that right Phil?' Devon thinks he's helping, he truly thinks putting Phil on a pedestal is bumping up his game.

But Phil actually thinks it's quite useless, because he's been friends with Brooke for ages and she already knows what kind of music he listens to and that he doesn't fail tests.

But she smiles, and it's a nice look so Phil smiles back. And it's fine.

As they're leaving the restaurant, Brooke shoves her hands in her coat pockets and walks close to Phil. She says,

"I had a good time," and Phil agrees. Then Devon appears behind them, his arm slung limply over Brittney's shoulder.

"Phil, why don't you walk Brooke home?" He raises an eyebrow as some kind of sly secret communication that Phil's supposed to understand.

The voice starts buzzing and Phil's not so sure he wants to do that.

"You don't have to." Brooke says looking up at him almost innocently, offering him an effortless escape. Phil glances at Devon who looks about ready to burst.

"No it's fine," Phil says, knowing that if he declines he'll never hear the end of it.

It's a smooth walk, one that takes seven minutes. Phil counts in his head.

They talk, and it's casual. The voice doesn't stop spewing letters from the gutter into his brain.

They arrive at her door, but it's not a date so Phil doesn't stick around for a good night kiss.

Even when Brooke looks at him, in the way girls look; when the moon's on them and the boy is an inch away.

Phil doesn't feel anything.

...

...

Seventeen unread texts.

Three from Brooke, fourteen from Devon, and one from Brittney.

You would have thought something awful has had to happened to Phil, that he'd gone missing, or he's in the hospital because receiving seventeen texts without responding is pretty impressive. But no, he's just got obsessive friends.

He doesn't read the messages because it's that kind of day, the kind of day where all he does is hold it in his hand and stare.

Another text flashes onto the screen; he clutches the phone. Sometimes he just wants to be alone.

Phil is sat outside, under the tallest tree, in a rut where the snow doesn't touch the ground. He feels every urge to smash the phone with a rock, completely obliterate it and dispose of the debris. The smarter side of Phil tells him that's not such a good idea.

So instead he chucks it about six feet away and cringes when he hears it hit the snow. He immediately regrets it but finds he doesn't really have the willpower to get up and retrieve it.

He sits still, holds his breath and wishes he didn't feel so awful.

"That was stupid," he hears and when he looks up he sees white.

The boy from before is standing over him with Phil's phone between his ice pick fingers. Phil swallows and he feels heavy.

His eyes flicker from the boy to his phone.

"Yeah." he says. Then the boy is extending his arm and dangling Phil's phone in front of his face, slowly reaching, he grabs the device. It feels like a block of ice.

"Thanks."

The boy doesn't answer, instead he fills the silence with a severed stare. Phil's uneasy again.

"You came back." The boy says it almost like a question, confusion flirting its way into his tone. Phil looks at his face.

He resembles a statue, painted to look like a person; dollar store paint that never quite stuck.

"Why?"

A formal question.

"I'm hiding," Phil says, because it's not a lie.

"From what," the boy's face breaks its stony pose, and for once, he looks slightly interested.

"My responsibilities," also not a lie, also doesn't impress the boy who's stern features return.

"Oh," he says. More staring.

The wind turns bitter. The boy turns to leave, and as he walks he says over his shoulder, "I'm Dan." Then he's gone.

And Phil is alone.

...

...

Phil wonders if all first dates are supposed to be shitty.

He takes Brooke to a nice restaurant and listens as she chats mindlessly about her day. Phil nods when he's suppose to and talks when there is silence.

It's not that Phil doesn't care about what Brooke has to say, it's just there's been a shift in their chemistry that makes Phil feel on edge. So this date, doesn't feel like a date.

And when they leave, Brooke leans into him and when they cross the street she finds his hand.

She's making all the first moves and Phil starts to feel a bit embarrassed.

The way they talk continues to be informal, even when he walks her home.

This time it takes nine minutes - not bad - and Phil is thankful she lives close to town.

When they reach the end of her driveway she waits and she waits, even stalls with futile words. But Phil doesn't lean in, he doesn't tilt his head or hold her cheeks. All he does is smile and she smiles back but Phil doesn't miss the way it falters.

Phil's chest is starting to feel a bit hollow and the voice is screaming again; it's starting to give him a headache.

But Brooke is pretty, and Brooke is nice, and she's a girl. So it works, it has to.

Because it would be weird any other way.

...

...

Devon pounces on him first thing the next morning (literally). Phil's surprised the sound of his truck pulling up next to his window hadn't woke him, but instead Devon's lengthy body crushing his own just so happens to be his rude awakening.

"How was it?" Is the first thing that comes from his mouth, he lacks a 'Hello! Good morning, how are you?'

"What the hell?" Phil's screeches, instinctively shoving Devon off of him. He hits the floor with a thud but doesn't seem to be bothered by it. Phil jerks upward still half asleep, rubbing his eyes and finding Devon's face.

"Are you gonna answer me?" Devon says from his position on the floor.

"How did you get into my house?"

"Um you're mum adores me, duh."

"I swear-"

"So Brooke." Devon leans back on his arm and gives Phil a devious look that only makes Phil want to punch him.

"What about Brooke?" Phil's tone is less than pleased, dripping with irritation. Devon groans as he picks himself up off the floor.

"Well you know."

"No Devon I-"

"I'm asking if you got some!" Devon's voice seeps into every crevice and crack in the entire house, his volume is alarming. Phil jumps out of his bed and on impulse, knocks Devon against his dresser.

"My parents are downstairs!" Phil's voice is hushed as he spits his words, venom seething behind his teeth. Devon rolls his eyes.

"And I'm sure they'd be disappointed in the fact that their son is a crippling virgin."

"God- Devon." Phil sits back down on the brink of his bed before he runs his hands over his face and drops them down into his lap. "We didn't even kiss-"

"You're joking."

"No-"

"You're fucking joking. I'm the best wingman in the history of wingmen and I score you a date with a total babe and you've not only disappointed me slightly but on every account I can't believ-"

"Will you just shut up!" Phil's words come out not only mean but real and raw as they scrape the sides of his throat. Devon stops talking and stares at Phil with a look that makes Phil feel like a dragon that just ate an entire village. Phil sighs.

"I was just kidding man, I don't-" Devon starts, unsure of where to place his tongue.

"I know," Phil interrupts and he knows Devon's just messing around, but talking about Brooke is starting to make his head hurt, and talking about sex with Brooke is making his body hurt. "I'm sorry," but he apologizes with a tangled tongue because for Phil anger is a hard emotion to digest.

"Are you okay," Devon's looking at him with concern now, and it's a strange shift.

"I don't know."

...

...

Dan's eyes aren't putting so much strain in his chest anymore. Instead, the glass has settled into something softer.

It's surprising and Phil feels strange.

"It's pretty weird knowing your name."

"Is it?"

"Yes."

They sit and it's quiet for a moment, snow starts to float to the ground. Phil watches it fall.

"You don't really seem real is all," Phil says, his voice gentle, his chest shuttering.

"What if I'm not." Dan's tone matches the way the sky looks when it rains. Phil glances over to see Dan is already looking at him.

"It wouldn't surprise me, I've been told I have an overactive imagination."

Dan breathes snowflakes and Phil's eyes are stuck in a swamp.

"You're weird," Dan says.

"I'm weird? You're weird." It's a genius come back.

"Oh, you got me." Dan breaths through his nose in one of those strange almost laughs. Phil just smiles at him and it's nice.

...

...

Sometimes Phil's parents are ghosts.

Sometimes they aren't, sometimes they smile and laugh and radiate the sun. They're very much alive and they breathe, they glow just like normal human beings, and those are very good days.

But sometimes Phil's parents are ghosts.

And they drift, like the ground isn't there and the walls have been obliterated. Like being transparent is a trend, like the sky is cracked, and clouds don't exist.

Like Phil doesn't exist.

There's a void somewhere in this house that eats the television cords like rats and digs holes in the carpet. This void doesn't have a name and can't been seen with the naked eye. Only with the hearts of Phil's parents.

...

...

Brooke agrees to a movie for their next date. It's unoriginal, sure, but so was the first. And so will every date from here on out, because Phil doesn't feel exactly right. But he likes movies, really likes movies. Even wanted to be a movie critic when he was ten.

Dreams die.

And the movie is great, but Brooke catches his hand from underneath the armrest and it ends up distracting him. He wants to ask her not to, but that would be weird.

Devon doesn't ask about this date and it's sort of strange for Phil; to not have Devon intruding on every aspect of his life.

But then he remembers the poison in his voice and how his insides felt like fire.

Then he's grateful.

But he feeds into Devon's hunger and tells him it was nice.

If Devon is unsatisfied, he hides it well and changes the subject.

...

...

Phil tries to paint a picture in the snow; he uses dollar store paints.

Dan watches over his shoulder, constantly asking, 'what in the hell is it suppose to be.'

The paint doesn't stick, but it's okay because that's the point.

"What is it?" Dan asks for the fifth time.

"It's supposed to be a fox." Phil says standing up and looking at it from Dan's angle. He tilts his head.

"If you squint it looks better," Dan suggests and Phil squints.

"You're right."

"Phil," Dan starts.

"Yeah?"

"You're not a very good artist."

"You work with what you get." Phil's not offended by Dan's accusation, for the most art experience he's had is the art class he was forced to take when he was fourteen and he just about failed that.

It wasn't his fault his art teacher didn't see the beauty in mistakes.

"Why a fox?"

"My brother likes foxes."

...

...

Phil's parents feel like it's necessary to celebrate his dad's promotion. A bit more cash thrown their way definitely isn't a bad thing.

Phil's dad picks the restaurant and it doesn't come as a surprise when they pull up to a burger joint.

The first thing Phil notices is a table of teenagers, loud and laughing, they draw attention from every corner of the room. Phil lowers his head and puts his hands in his pockets.

They sit in a booth adjacent from the table, and Phil sits on the side where when he looks up he catches a full front view of every face in the mix.

The noise doesn't seem to bother his parents, and all Phil ends up doing is continuously sliding nonchalant glances their way.

His parents strike up a conversation, and it's weird. Phil can't remember the last time they exchanged anything more than a few words.

It's progress, he thinks.

Phil sips down a water, then another, and after the third he's looking up at the table of teens again and there's a guy with spiky hair and a ring around his lip staring at him.

Instead of turning away, the stranger smiles. The voice in Phil's head starts talking.

He looks away quickly, back to the place mat in front of him, just before the waiter comes for their order. Phil can't help that his chest feels close to imploding.

A second round of this staring game undergoes. Spiky hair guy finds Phil spying but instead of smiling, this time he winks.

It's slow, unmistakably for him, almost like he knows something that's not meant to be known.

Phil's heart goes haywire in his chest. It's scaling in his throat then sinking into his stomach, eventually smashing against his ribs. The voice is screaming now.

He would like to say that it was weird, because right now most things in his life are weird. But it doesn't feel bad, not at all; in fact, Phil can't keep the small smile from tugging at the corners of his lips.

His mum asks him what he's smiling about.

"Just happy to be here is all." He responds with, sort of bullshit, sort of not.

The next time Phil peers over at the table, they're packing up, getting ready to head out. Spiky glances over one last time and is slow as he mouths a 'bye'.

Phil almost chokes on his water and the guy is still looking at him as it happens. He laughs before he turns and leaves.

Phil bursts into flames.

...

...

The sun is out today and it's weird because sun has been such a foreign concept for about a month now.

Dan is stretched out in the snow, it's melting, melting pretty slowly.

"Not a fan of the sun," he says staring up at the sky as a cloud passes over the yellow orb. The rays diminish and it's gray again.

"Why's that?"

"Why do you think." Dan looks over as if it were an obvious answer. But Phil doesn't say anything, because Dan once told him that his ability to not ask questions was something he liked very much.

Of course there were questions, questions like,

"Why do you wear the same outfit everyday?"

"Where do you even live?"

"Are you even a person?"

"Are you even real?"

Phil doesn't like that last one very much. Because he would like to think that this boy he's spending so much time with breaths air, owns a heartbeat, and feels actual emotions.

So Phil doesn't think to hard about these questions, doesn't ask them either. No point.

Instead he just sits, breathes, and feels cold all while being accompanied by a strange boy with white hair who's called Dan.

And that's okay.

...

...

Brooke and him kiss and some point.

And when they do, Phil feels like he's suffocating, like all the moisture in the air had dried to nothing and a match has fallen into his chest and started a fire in his lungs. And when she deepens the kiss, the fire spikes until it has burned every organ and announced each one's demise.

The bed remains empty because of the steady hand he puts between them; it signifies the end of their swamped mouths and tangled limbs.

And Phil feels awful.

Devon is the first to know about it, well, really the only one Phil has to tell.

He's happy for Phil but looks at him like he's got a magnifying glass embedded in his eyes.

"Are you okay?" It's a weird question, and Phil's not quite sure why he's asking.

"Uh, yeah?" Phil says, but it's barely statement.

"Okay."

Devon has been acting weird.

...

...

Brittney talks pretty loud, and when she says, 'I don't know what she sees in him.' followed by 'he's not that fucking special.'

Devon responds with 'Britt,' in a tone that suggests she backs off.

Phil doesn't feel very offended, or hurt. He feels angry.

Because he's not so sure himself.

...

...

It's an off day; Phil feels it as soon as he wakes up. It's one of those days when the door at the end of the hall is left open and the void eats away at the paint chipping off the living room ceiling.

Downstairs, he's engulfed with the smell of baked goods.

His mum bakes when she's sad.

His dad sits at the table flipping through a book; no one says anything.

His mum starts on some brownies as Phil cuts into one of the four pies on the counter. He takes a monstrous slice and sits down across from his dad.

The chair scrapes the floor but the rest of the house is silent. His mum bakes, his dad reads, he eats, they all breathe, the walls don't fall, and the ground remains intact.

But there are shells surrounding Phil.

...

...

Devon is over and they're eating pie when Phil wonders; does Dan like pie?

...

...

When Phil first arrives with a pie tin in his hands, he feels sort of stupid. But then Dan appears with soft eyes and a touching smile.

Then his gaze falls down to the tin and he says, "What the hell is that?"

"It's pie. My mum made tons, so I was wondering if maybe you wanted some?" Phil's voice creaks and cracks as if it were stepping on the floorboards of a hundred year old house.

"Pie?"

"Yes, pie, you know the pastry dessert, with the crust and gooey fruit in the middle."

"Sounds unappetizing." Dan says blankly, his eyes remain glued to the tin.

"What do you- are you telling me you've never had pie?"

"Yes?" Dan strings the word out for so long it ends up being a question.

"Okay then," Phil's eyebrows furrow before extending his arms out, showcasing the pie with a layer of foil resting on top. It's an offering that Dan steps away from.

"You scared of pastries?" Phil jokes.

"What if I freeze it or something."

Phil has the idea that Dan is not completely normal, but this makes him laugh.

"Freeze it?" Phil breathes.

"Yeah," Dan's showing genuine concern.

"Then we'll play fucking Frisbee with it."

That's all it takes for Dan to reach out and quickly take the tin from Phil's grasp. He peels off the foil before finding a fork laid on the center of the pie. He picks it up, then glances up at Phil almost as if he were looking for reassurance.

Phil nods, then watches as Dan devours the whole thing.

"I like pie," is his conclusion.

...

...

It usually happens in the dark space between blinks, or when Phil catches the smell of Brooke's perfume that the voice is stunned into silence, or simply has stopped mouthing words. Phil's not really sure if it has ever stopped talking, and he's not sure if it's a normal thing that occurs in all the tightly wound brains of teenage boys.

Or if it's just him.

Either way, he'd never hiccup a word of the muffled rumbling that has low toned its way into his ears.

Sometimes it feels like a nail hitting the center of his brain. When he's feeling any sort of strong emotion, it's there hammering in his ear, screaming its way to the front of Phil's thoughts.

And sometimes it's as quiet as when your house is still and it's three am; you know your half of the world is asleep, and the dark touches every place in your room. It tells you to go to sleep, but it's so quiet. Too quiet. You can't sleep, the talking just isn't there. Phil's become so use to it, it's hard to be without.

When Phil is around Dan the talking seems to sing.

It's never done that before, like, ever.

And it's weird, because he's not so sure what it means, and he's not so sure he wants to even find out.

...

...

"Shhhh," Dan's shushing is definitely louder than the crunch of snow beneath Phil's shoes.

But still, he tries to soften the sound.

Dan is leading him to a tree caked with snow. Dan starts to crouch.

Then he's throwing his arm out, smacking Phil in the ribs. This causes Phil's legs buckle, and the skin on his stomach starts to burn. He swallows, backs up, eyes on Dan as he can no longer find warmth in his jacket.

Ice is present in his blood and his bones feels cold. Dan says,"Here."

Phil can't feel his fingers and Dan is oblivious.

Winter has settled inside of Phil as he watches Dan point somewhere beyond the tree.

He looks, and there's a fox with fur as white as Dan's hair. She's sheltered by a den, curled up, and her eyes are closed.

Phil can't feel his toes but he can't stop staring.

"Isn't she beautiful," Dan whispers so quietly it's caught in the wind, "I thought you'd like her."

Everything is cold but Phil looks at Dan and there's concentration burning his features, and it almost looks pretty.

...

...

Phil holds a hand just above a burning candle, his attention enthralled by the flames as it is centimeters away from licking the palm of his hand.

"What are you doing?" His mum asks upon entering the room.

"I'm cold," Phil responds, his face hardly moving; his eyes don't stray.

"You're wrapped up in three blankets," she states, like Phil is ignorant.

He doesn't say anything.

"Are you sick?" She asks, worry taking over her tone.

"I don't know," he tells her, and it's not a lie.

...

...

It takes three days for Phil to feel warmth again. And for three days he doesn't go to school, and for three days he doesn't see Dan.

In matter of fact, he doesn't see Dan for the rest of the week and it makes his chest feels weird.

When he returns to school, Devon is on him faster than light asking,

"Where the hell have you been?" His voice is insensitive to the morning, as he doesn't seem to know how to speak at a soft volume. Phil regains his ability to respond and says,

"I've been deathly ill."

Devon looks at him in a dumbfounded way, tilting his head, almost hesitant.

"Is that so? With what?"

"Not quite sure, couldn't feel my bones though." Phil says shutting his locker before turning down the hall. Devon follows him, even when it's the opposite direction of his next class.

"You're not suppose to feel your bones."

"Oh."

...

...

Phil's head lays on his arm. And there's a blizzard stuck on rewind just beneath his eyelids.

Dan's face, his movements, his words - they're drawn over and over, repeatedly, where the usual intake of algebraic equations is supposed to be. Phil swallows and he shuts his eyes.

He moves his fingers, just in case, takes notice of the fact that he can still feel them.

The teacher drones on and on about something, and it's a fuzzy white noise until a question is being directed at him. He raises his head and sets his eyes on the round man who never wears pants that fit him quite right.

Phil doesn't know what he's been asked, so when he remains silent with a barrier over his face, he sort of expects the man to move on; instead he just stares at Phil and waits. He stands with his arms folded over his puffy chest and the most serious of expressions.

Phil shrugs before he asks 'What?'

And he feels rude. Because his mother didn't raise him to say 'what?' to his teachers in the tone that just crossed his lips.

Because Phil usually doesn't shut his eyes in the middle of a lecture.

Because Phil generally doesn't think about a boy with white hair, smiling and laughing all while sending ice into his bones.

But the 'what' is nasty and Devon stares at him intently from across the room, while Brittney's jaw has gone slack, and Brooke's concern looms over the entire classroom like some kind of poisonous gas.

Mr. Bunsen stares at him as if the word 'what' had set everything else in the room on fire.

He raises his eyebrows and drops them, peeling his eyes from Phil while saying, "Anyone else have a more intellectual answer?"

Macy Berkin's hand flies into the air and Phil feels more than awful

...

...

Brooke asks him loads of questions, questions a mother would ask; her worry floods the hallways and crashes against the lockers like waves aiming to suffocate.

Phil answers them like he cares.

Devon's still watching him, picking up on his every moment, like something is not quite right.

Like the earth's axis has been thrown, all because Phil Lester said one word to a teacher.

...

...

Devon ends coming over, his eyes never stray from Phil, not even when he's driving.

Phil starts to feel smothered.

And he realizes something.

He misses Dan.

...

...

The forest is colder and the sky is grayer.

The snow sinks through Phil's pant legs and touches his skin. It's cold and it clings to his flesh, but he's envisioned the tallest tree so many times that if he doesn't see it he thinks he'll go insane.

Dan is nowhere to be found when Phil arrives; he ends up sat in his rut.

And it's quiet and he's alone, but it's not the worst thing in the world. An hour goes by. Phil's still waiting.

And when Dan finally appears, it's with his head bowed and his features fixed.

He looks like he did the first day Phil saw him.

"I didn't think you were coming back," he says, and his voice is tight. Phil's not hearing any singing.

It's the standing point of the conversation and hospitality is a main factor. Dan lifts his head, and all Phil can see are blizzards.

He thinks about not telling Dan about how the smallest amount of physical contact made all his skin go numb. How he'd been scared, how he'd been cold. And how all he could think about are blizzards.

"You touched me," Phil says, slowly, as if the words were sticking to the back of his tongue.

The look on Dan's face tells Phil he doesn't understand.

"I couldn't feel the burn of a candle or the warmth of a blanket," Phil continues.

It goes quiet for an extensive amount of time before Dan's voice is breaking and he's saying,

"And you came back?"

The rawness in his tone offers the sort of edge that confirms: Dan thinks he's a fucking idiot.

"I-"

"You don't fucking come back when things like this happen, it's not what a normal person would do."

Anger smooths it's way over Dan's back, but he's not yelling and he won't look at Phil.

"I'm sorry," Phil says because he's not quite sure what he's suppose to do.

"Don't apologize," Dan says, then he's releasing a heavy sigh while his anger seems to be caught at the bottom of his lungs.

"You just- you never fucking question anything and I- I don't understand. I don't understand you Phil," Dan says this like there's been a flood in his throat, like every word out of his mouth is drenched with the ocean.

"It's none of my business," Phil attempts to justify his actions, but Dan's face ends up even more crumbled.

"You-" he tries but remains at a loss of words.

His broken expression and breathy words pushes Phil say,

"I came back because I missed you."

And it's the truth. Because Phil has been in knots for an entire week, and he can't look at the snow without wishing for a blizzard.

It's quiet after that.

"You are weird," Dan says, but it's fondness that creeps into his tone.

...

...

"Mum, can you bake a pie?"

"Why?"

"My friend likes pie."

...

...

Brooke becomes his girlfriend at some point and Devon finally stops staring at him. Phil's not sure about all of this.

...

...

Phil has never been to a party before.

So he's not so sure how to turn down all these drinks random strangers are handing him.

He remembers a faint conversation with his brother about the possibility of being drugged, so at first, when some guy with a tattoo is shoving a drink in his face, he sort of freaks out.

But after he takes it, stares at it for ten minutes, he ends up saying 'fuck it' and downs it.

It's not the smartest of ideas, Phil's fully aware of that, but after that first drink is out of the way and the only people offering him drinks are nice drunk girls, everything becomes easier.

Devon's here somewhere, but the last time Phil saw him he was on his second shot and Brittney had him by his arm while shouting something in his face.

Phil decides looking for him would be useless and instead finds himself wandering off out to the back door where he almost trips over a set of stairs.

For some reason Phil thinks that it'd be a good idea to circulate around the house. So that's what he does, and when he sees ice dripping from the ledge of a window, he thinks it's one of the most exciting things he's ever seen.

When he turns a corner, his eyes immediately fall on some unfamiliar guy who's tucked under a gutter. He stands silently with his hands in his pockets and his back pressed against the wall.

Uninterested, Phil turns to leave, but a second boy catches his eye.

He's not sure why he stops but he watches both boys, both unable to take their eyes off of one another. And even from here, in the dim lighting, drunk to no end, Phil's able to pick up on some details.

Like the look on the one's face, or tenseness in the others back, and the way their breathing has come to a halt.

The pressure between them is so thick that Phil can feel it pushing on his chest.

It happens so fast. Suddenly they're together, arms, hands, fingers tangled, lips crashing, noses crushed, hair matted. They're kissing, and soon they're against the wall and Phil can't look away.

They kiss as if it will never be enough, as if air isn't a factor, like they'll never see each other again.

Phil's chest starts to vibrate.

He tells himself to breathe, but the boy's are swallowing all the air and the snow is stopping and Phil wants to cry but it's weird because he doesn't feel like crying.

They're still kissing when Phil bolts to the end of the driveway. He's running, running from them, running from the kissing boys. He feels sick.

He stops running when he's on the sidewalk, then he vomits.

...

...

"You don't look too hot," Dan's tells him.

"It was a long night." Phil rubs his eyes. He tastes bile in his throat all over again.

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Fuck no." Phil says and the two boys are surging their way into his baffled brain. The hangovers prominent, no aspirin in the world can help him now. He looks to Dan, "You ever been drunk?"

"Don't know."

"Hm."

...

...

Devon shows up at Phil's house at 2 am.

He doesn't bother with the front door, instead he bangs on Phil's window until the whole house rattles.

Phil's furious by the time he unravels himself from the comforting embrace of his duvet. He's crossing the room and pushing the window open, staring down at Devon through heavy eyes.

Devon's arms are crossed and he's staring up at Phil in a way that makes Phil's stomach hurt. The sadness in his eyes lay over his features like dirty snow, graying every aspect of his face.

Devon whispers nothing but a broken 'hi' and Phil's moving out of the way, giving him some room to climb through. Phil's anger subsides.

Devon climbs through his window like a wounded deer. It's painful to watch, especially when he doesn't pick himself up off of the floor.

Phil kneels down before he hears the throaty sob, one that takes up the entire room.

Devon leans on him because that's usually what happens and he says,

"I think it's over for good this time."

Phil can hardly digest his words, for they come out so rough and jagged. But he hears them, they touch his ears, and he puts his arms around Devon.

They sit on the floor, next to Phil's open window; the room fills with wind and Devon doesn't stop crying.

...

...

Relationships are hard.

Especially when your best friend stares at your hands when they clasp together underneath the table. And it's hard when Brooke insists they all still sit together because she's oblivious to Devon's side door emotion.

Phil knows though, because Devon laying next to him in bed with sobs encased in his chest is still a vivid memory in the front of his mind. It plays throughout the day, mainly when Devon's stood at his side staring at Brittney from across the hall.

Brittney doesn't look very fazed with her recent breakup as she continuously chats with Jacob Hockey.

Devon grips the back of Phil's shirt, bringing him to a halt so he can stare at the scene just a little while longer.

Phil ends up having to pull him away, and when they're sat in his truck, Devon punches his steering wheel.

Breakups are hard.

...

...

"She's pregnant." Dan says as the both of them stare intently towards the fox who now is accompanied with another fox. The male's ears are perked, his eyes gazing around as if he could sense them watching.

Phil doesn't respond, he only watches the white of their fur mat with the dirt in the den. He looks at Dan and that concentration burns on his features once again.

Phil's not sure what he's supposed to do next.

...

...

Phil's dad tries to strike up a conversation. This doesn't happen very often.

He says, "So, you still seeing that Brooke girl."

Phil stares at him for a minute, "Uh yeah," is his response.

"Cute girl, you should bring her around more often," He squeezes Phil's shoulder as if it were a gesture of approval.

It might sound stupid, but Phil relishes in the moment. Takes in every part of his dad's face as he gives him that sly dog smile, speaks his words like he's proud, looks at Phil as if conversations like this were the norm.

Brooke is his girlfriend, and his dad thinks that's great.

...

...

"Brittney's a fucking bitch anyways." Devon whispers sort of loudly as they stand in line at some coffee shop. Phil nods his head because he really has no room to disagree.

Devon goes on to rant about all the bad Brittney's ever done to him, from buying him a pencil pouch for Christmas one year, to texting Kevin Alvin more than him.

Phil's listening, totally listening, because that's the kind of friend he is. He's even listening when his eyes land on a certain back, a back made of stone that he can't quite forget.

One half of the kissing boys is stood in front of him.

His face is turned the opposite direction, his shoulders slumped, his leg shaking. Phil feels drunk all over again, and his chest sinks.

Phil watches him order his coffee before he's turning around and heading towards the door. In the most desperate attempt, Phil shuffles in the stranger's direction, causing their shoulders to bump. He turns his head slightly, smiling falsely and offers a broken 'sorry'.

His face looks gray and Phil wonders where the other boy is. He replies, "you're fine," and thank god his voice doesn't shake.

Devon had stopped talking and Phil hadn't noticed. He stares at him.

"What?" Phil says like he's oblivious to the despairing measures he just took in order to see that boys face.

"That- never mind."

Maybe Devon stopped talking a while ago.

...

...

It's a week before Christmas when Phil's hauling a heavy box under his arm; this makes the walk to the tallest tree seem ridiculously long.

Dan's already waiting for him when he arrives, and as soon as he sees the box, he's pouncing on Phil.

"What's in the box?" he says before Phil even sets it down.

Phil doesn't answer, instead he's dropping it onto a tree stump and popping the lid open. He pulls out the first thing his fingers touch. It's silver tinsel, entirely mangled. Phil immediately goes for the knots as soon as he lays eyes on it.

"I thought we could decorate a tree," Phil says smiling. Dan stares at him, going completely still.

The stare isn't unfamiliar, for it's the stare he generally receives when he's done something to surprise Dan. Fondness usually follows shortly after and right now Phil's completely ignoring the way Dan's looking at him. Instead he says,

"Hey, I'm sure you got some bad ass tree decorating skills," he forces himself to laugh but Dan doesn't stop staring at him.

The knots don't untangle, even when he's resulted to forcibly prying at them, "I guess I should have done this beforehand," Phil says, not allowing the frustration to seep into his words as he tries to keep a light heart.

Then it's Dan's gentle, slow, movements taking up the space in Phil's mind as he steadily moves his hand onto the tinsel, gripping it. All while looking Phil in the eye, he says, "Here."

Phil lets go and watches Dan do what he's been struggling with for five minutes, in ten seconds.

"Sorcery," Phil says but he's smiling and Dan's smiling back.

And they pick a tree that stands at a good height and isn't completely covered in snow.

Night dots the sky before they're finished and then Phil's reaching into the box for one of the last ornaments. He pulls it out and looks at it. White hair with skin to match and blue dots for eyes.

He laughs and dangles it by the string right in front of his face.

When he looks at Dan, he's already staring.

"What's that?" he asks, his voice going uneven.

"It's Jack Frost." Phil's smile fades a little when Dan's expression doesn't shift. He does, however, step forward and slip the ornament from Phil's fingers into his own palm.

"Jack wh-?" Dan sounds slightly breathless.

"Jack Frost, um he's a storybook character." Phil's chest shutters and he starts to feel bad. "Look we don't have to hang it up, I thought it'd be funny. I'm sorry."

Dan doesn't seem to acknowledge what Phil was saying, because he just crosses over to the tree and hangs the ornament near the bottom.

Jack Frost dangles there and Dan steps back to look at it.

Phil comes up behind him, and almost touches his shoulder. He stops himself.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," Dan turns around and they're inches away.

It's dark, but the moon lights up the snow and it seems like the world's glowing, so when Phil sees the color of Dan's eyes, his chest spikes.

Phil could swear up and down that they've shifted, much softer, darker in color to, blue like, the frost seems to have melted.

Could just be the lighting, Phil tells himself.

But when he's back the next morning, in daylight, it's all the same.

...

...

Break started days ago and Devon's spent more time at Phil's house than his own.

Then the question comes,

"Where the hell do you run off to all the time?"

And it's question Phil doesn't want to answer, so he licks his lips.

"I hang out with Brooke quite a bit, if that's what you're referencing." It's sort of a lie.

"I-" Devon looks as if he's on the edge of saying something else but he eyes Phil cautiously. But he eventually lets it go.

...

...

Phil goes last minute shopping with Brooke and when he arrives at the mall, Brittney just so happens to be at her side.

Devon would kill him.

But he's civil and says nothing too alarming besides a couple off handed jokes here and there.

He uses most of his money on a nice necklace for his mum and ends up buying his dad a mug.

Brittney is dragging them into every other store constantly complaining how nothing fits her 'fat ass'.

Brooke goes on to say 'maybe you should lay off the cake', and Phil thinks that's sort of rude but he doesn't say anything.

A flash of hurt stumbles over Brittney's face but she brushes it off and says,

"Shut up you twig bitch," it's meant to be a joke but comes out harsh and Phil doesn't like when Brittney looks at him as if he were analyzing the situation too thoroughly. He's not, but she still throws him a set of eyes that would light fires underwater.

When they exit the mall, Devon's there to pick Phil up and he definitely spots Brittney. So Phil is quick to kiss Brooke goodbye and wave to Brittney who gives him major stink eye.

When Phil hops into the truck, Devon continuously stares at Brittney, then switches gears and rolls out, speeding past them.

Phil places his bags by his feet and sits bac. He sighs heavily and says,

"Sorry man, didn't even know she was gonna be there."

"It's alright," but his tone says otherwise.

...

...

Phil's brother, Ben, comes home from uni for the holidays. His mum is ecstatic and his dad pats him on the back.

Phil's forced into one of those bro hugs before his mum goes right back to swooning over Ben.

...

...

"My brother's home for Christmas."

"The one who likes foxes?"

"No."

...

...

Ben and Phil really don't have the greatest of relationships.

When Phil was eleven, Ben pushed him off of the front porch, resulting in a split forehead. This required eight stitches and much caution. When Phil was twelve, Ben told Devon that he thought he was a 'shit friend' which caused Phil's first and proper fight among friends.

When Phil was thirteen, in an act of revenge, he told Ben's girlfriend that he'd seen him kissing another girl. Ben punched the shit out of him and broke his nose.

That was the only and last time Phil ever attempted revenge.

Those memories come to mind as they sit on the sofa and it's quiet.

Ben looks at him.

"What no murderous glare, where's the brother I know and love?"

Phil just sighs. It's heavy and he's not in the mood. His phone vibrates.

It's Brooke, his shitty mood turns into something worse.

"Is that your girlfriend." Ben asks all smiley, joking like. It's a simple question and Ben means no harm by it so when Phil's veins explode and his jaw hinges he's a bit confused.

"Fuck off," he says and it's restrained.

Ben stares at him, a frown replaces his smile, and his eyes don't budge as he says,

"What's your problem?" his tone goes a shade more serious and Phil swallows.

"Fuck if I know."

...

...

On Christmas Phil's mum is in the kitchen the entire day. It's the Lester's turn to host Christmas, and Phil's mum always strives to one up her sister.

Ben and Phil are given the task of going through the entire house with a fine tooth comb and cleaning until the carpet sparkles. It's horrible, especially when Ben's got the same three shitty songs on repeat.

His dad is sent to the store three times for supplies they most likely won't need. Sometimes Phil forgets how obsessive his mum can be.

Family members start to fill in around four just as Ben and Phil are setting the table. They've hardly talked and it's kind of sad.

At dinner, all the aunts marvel about how nice the house looks, while their husbands make jokes about being married. Phil scarfs his food in silence, occasionally making small talk with cousin Angie who's dry humor makes him feel better.

Afterward, they all gather in the living room where Phil receives multiple gift cards and a pair of socks. It's wrapping paper galore and it covers the entire floor sending all Phil's hard work to shit.

About an hour in, he ends up sneaking off into the kitchen where he stuffs a bag full of leftovers. Angie catches him in the process and asks,

"What the hell are you doing?" Phil pauses momentarily and looks over his shoulder. When he realizes it's only her, he continues to smuggle food.

"I like to feed the squirrels."

"That's an entire pie."

"They're fat squirrels."

...

...

"Pie?"

"Not yet, pie is for dessert. You've got more things to try."

"I've had just about everything," Dan says, shoving the tub of mashed potatoes out of the way. Phil shakes his head when Dan reaches for the pie tin. Phil moves it out of sight.

"Come on." Dan throws his head back. Phil's laughing.

"Eat your ham." Phil orders, and with frigid movements, Dan takes a piece of ham from the foil and puts the whole slab in his mouth. He chews with exaggerated expressions, which causes Phil to laugh even harder.

"Okay I like that," Dan says after he's swallowed.

"Alright, mashed potatoes: zero, ham: one." Phil says.

"Pie?"

"You're weird." Phil says but he's reaching behind him and reveals the pie before extending the tin towards Dan. He doesn't hesitate to grab it while Phil watches him rip into it like it's his favorite present.

And when Phil's getting ready to head off, Dan's offering him the empty tin with plenty shame tinting his features.

"You are a fat squirrel."

...

...

Phil gives Brooke her gift the day after Christmas. They're sat on her bed and a few kisses have been shared.

Phil breaks it to pull out two concert tickets to her favorite band from his back pocket.

"Phil!" Brooke's smiling as she grabs them from his fingers. She reads over them multiple times as if the wording on them has the ability to change "I can't believe this, thank you," she says before she's kissing him hard on the mouth.

Usually you give your girlfriend something sentimental, like a ring, or a necklace something to signify the strength of your relationship. If Phil's being honest, the concert tickets seemed like an easy way out.

...

...

Devon would be happy with a chocolate bar, Phil knows this, but he still ends up getting him a well needed pair of headphones.

Devon's face lights up upon opening the gift. They're sat in his car the second day after Christmas.

"You didn't have to." He says sincerely, and the serious vibe in his tone sticks to Phil. Then Devon is reaching over him and popping open his glove department; he pulls out a tee shirt.

"All I got you was a shirt."

Phil takes it and grips it tightly in both hands; he stares down at it and he smiles.

...

...

Phil doesn't buy Ben anything.

So when Ben's handing over a wrapped gift, he's sort of confused.

Then when he's tearing into the paper he realizes it's a picture frame, and inside three boys stare at him.

All smiles, all alive, all while the sun captures every inch of happiness.

A cord in Phil's chest is plucked and he wants to throw the frame at Ben's head. He decides against it and instead gives a cool,

"Thanks."

Then he's in the hall, and his anger is flaring, his chest is completely spiked when he enters his room and he tosses the frame onto his bed. He stares at it until it's red around the edges.

Anger deflates and now he feels like crying.

He doesn't.

...

...

Normal people spend new years at a party, wasted, with their girlfriend.

And he does this, he goes go to a party but he doesn't get wasted and he doesn't stick around for midnight; instead, he's telling Brooke that their new year's kiss will have to come early.

Her face crumbles, he watches it, but he pecks her on the lips, keeping it light and steering away from the heavy hands she would usually lay on him.

As he's heading out, he finds Brittney sitting on the front porch looking down at the cement.

Phil's half tempted to keep on walking because him and Brittney never really liked each other, and well, she's not even dating his best friend anymore so what's the use?

But when he sees her posture, slumped over with her face lowered, arms tucked into her stomach, he stops.

"Hey," is what he comes up with, half expecting her to lash out, find something wrong with the way he's said it.

She doesn't, instead she looks up and her cheeks are wet.

"You okay?" he asks before he's plopping down next to her.

"Uh yeah," hearing her voice waver and lack its strength and sarcasm is something different, but Phil doesn't overlook the fact that she's drunk.

"Do you need help home? I can walk you-"

"Why the fuck are you so nice all the time? Even when you're an asshole, you're still kind of nice." Her words mush together but it's harsh and it feels a little more familiar. Phil frowns.

"I don't know," he says even when he wants to tell her 'it's because he loves you', though even if Devon didn't, Phil doesn't know if he could just leave her.

She sighs, it's heavy and she's tilting her head away from him.

"Is he seeing anyone else."

The change of subject catches him off guard.

"Britt-"

"Well is he?" Her words are sharp and they fray at the ends. Phil breathes, Devon's been talking to a couple girls, but he doesn't say that. Instead, he just looks at her.

She lets out a sound of discomfort and Phil thinks she might cry. She doesn't.

"Maybe it's for the best," Phil says timidly after silence fills the cracks in the pavement.

"Like I want to hear relationship advice from you," she talks with a bitter tongue and it catches Phil's undivided attention.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asks, unable to help himself.

"You know," she attempts to dismiss her statement and Phil almost lets her, but his stare eats at her. "You aren't into your relationship like she is."

Brittney waits for him to deny her claim and when he doesn't, she looks at him.

"Are you seeing someone else."

Is that what it seems like?

"No," he says and it's the truth.

"You should end it, she's fucking crazy about you."

"I'm sorry," Phil doesn't know what he's supposed to say and apparently 'sorry' is his go to.

"Don't apologize to me." Brittney's voice is quiet as she says this; Phil has the sudden urge to get drunk.

"I should get going," Phil announces when there's nothing more to say. He stands and is down the steps before turning to her once more, asking,"You sure you'll be fine?" Just in-case.

And the softness in her eyes catches him by surprise.

"Yes, Phil."

...

...

The moon is full tonight and midnight is creeping up. Phil's got a bag slung over his shoulder when he arrives at the tallest tree; Dan appears only seconds after.

The bag is full of liquor.

"You said you've never been drunk?"

"I said I don't remember if I have."

"Right." Phil's smiling but it feels fake. Dan senses it's not a very good night. "Well I've only been drunk once, and that was an experience."

"Here," Phil tosses a bottle of whiskey Dan's way, he catches it and carefully observes every inch of the glass before he's following Phil's lead and unscrewing the cap.

They sit next to each other and it's silent until it's not. Until everything is fuzzy and Phil's halfway to forgetting the way Brittney had asked him if he were

His main thought, or focus, at the moment is how nice Dan looks in this lighting, and that's sort of a dangerous thing to think about.

They're laughing and Phil forgets what about, but he always feels so much better when Dan's around.

The laughing stops and Dan says, "I don't remember anything."

"Amnesia?" Phil suggests, not even knowing what he's on about.

"No- I don't remember if I have a family or how I got here or why, and sometimes it's very frustrating. That's why I'm glad you don't ask questions, because I don't know the answers myself," Dan's words are sad, and they're slow and they process through Phil's mind ten times more depressing than usual.

"Does alcohol usually make you want to talk about your problems?" Dan smiles but it's false and Phil senses that it's not a good night.

"I'm sorry,"

"You always apologize for no reason."

"It's just in-case."

"In-case of what?"

"I don't know."

It's silent after that and Phil's starting to feel awful. His insides feel twisted and his mind is pretty foggy. He's staring at Dan's mouth.

"My brother killed himself." It's whispered, soft and gentle; Phil says it so he doesn't do something else.

Dan just looks at him.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He doesn't ask why, and Phil's glad because he doesn't know the answer.

Silence resumes and the snow starts to fall. It piles up in Phil's hair.

Phil hasn't stopped looking at Dan's mouth.

"I want to touch you." he says even softer than before. Their eyes meet.

"You shouldn't," Dan says like he's obligated to.

"I know,"

But Phil leans in anyways, it's slow and over as soon as it starts but their lips touch and Phil's face feels frozen.

...

...

Phil doesn't think he should drink anymore.

…

Phil's skin has never fit him quite so badly.

It's itchy and thick, feels like the much too heavy sweaters his mum buys him when it's cold out. The difference between the tacky sweater and his skin is pretty obvious in the way where one is impossible to remove without inflicting long lasting pain or possibly death.

He's quiet when Ben is saying his goodbyes, readying himself to go back to uni. He's being eyed the entire time, and just before Ben steps out the door he's pulling Phil to the side.

He looks him straight in the eye and says,

"You can talk to me about anything Phil. Anything. I'll always be here for you."

His eyes are glistening and Phil releases the breath he's been holding. Ben doesn't want to lose another brother, but Phil's okay. His only response is a curt nod and when Ben pulls him in for a hug, he feels compelled to pat him on the back.

"Bye, Phil."

"Bye, Ben."

...

...

The place where Dan's lips touched his is imprinted throughout Phil's entire body, giving him the ultimate lasting reminder of his shitty mistake.

He wants to put his face in a fire, burn the nerves until they're completely scorching. He doesn't do this, obviously.

And the numbness fades after two days, but the hazy memory of Dan's face as their lips touch is intact residue.

The rocky future of his relationship with Dan is something to think about, something that keeps him up at night. But another thing to think about is the fact that Dan is a boy.

And Phil is not gay.

He's just not.

Phil has a girlfriend, he has a hot, beautiful, smart girlfriend who he kisses, who he touches, and takes out on dates. Gay guys don't do that.

Gay guys don't have girlfriends.

So why does the word taste so horrific in his mouth? Why does his heart race and his palms sweat just thinking about the possibility?

Why does he feel like he's about to vomit?

Mr. Benson tells him to stay after class.

A blank stare inflates on Phil's face and Devon's watching him from across the room.

When class is dismissed, he remains sat in his seat while the room empties out. Devon makes eye contact before he's out the door. Silent communication.

Mr. Benson's slipping a sheet of paper onto his desk. He's stood over him and Phil can feel his eyes beating down on him as if they were blistering rays from the sun. It takes Phil a couple seconds to look at the paper wholly; it's the most recent test.

And he's failed it.

Phil doesn't fail tests.

He looks up at Mr. Benson and almost cries.

He doesn't though, because that would be weird.

"I don't understand Phil, you're a bright kid." Mr. Benson's voice is heavily coated in what seems like false disappointment and Phil's throat is completely swollen. "Is there anything going on?"

Mr. Benson molds his features into an expression that resembles concern, except to Phil it seems sort of fake.

"Yes," he says anyway, but it comes out as silence. "I'm having a sexual crisis." More silence.

Instead Phil just stares at him, and the tension in the room weighs down on his chest.

...

...

"You've been off the past couple of days," Brooke says.

Phil wants to release every ounce of anger bottled up onto her in that very moment.

"Fuck off," he says, but it comes out as "I'm fine."

The harshness in his tone keeps her questioning. But she doesn't ask.

...

...

Phil dreads how accustomed to Dan he's become, how much he misses him, how hard it's been not to just up and walk through to forest holding a pie asking for forgiveness.

He holds off on that for about three days. Then he's asking his mum to bake, and he's pulling his hat over his head and his jacket over his shoulders.

Then it's the tallest tree he's stood by and Dan's nowhere to be found, so he waits and the pie goes cold.

"Really?"

Phil's head jerks up and Dan's standing there.

He is different looking.

His hair tints silver and his eyes, his eyes are gray. Phil breaths out quickly.

"A pie?" Dan's saying, his voice steady and his arms crossed.

"Um- yeah-I-" Phil's stumbling over his words and he hasn't had this much trouble talking to Dan in a long time, so instead of trying to form a sentence he just extends his arms and offers the pie.

Dan stares at it for a moment before he's looking at Phil.

"I'm sorry." Phil musters. He sees Dan's jaw moving but he takes the pie and holds it to his chest.

"Can we just forget about it and go back to normal." Phil almost feels as if he were pleading; he wants so bad to just be able to sit in the cold next to Dan and talk about stupid shit.

Dan doesn't say anything, instead his eyes shift back onto the pie and remain there. He looks submerged in thought. Phil's waits patiently, hheart thumping in his ears and his stomach churning.

Moments later Dan looks up and opens his mouth,

"What if-" he pauses and their eyes connect, "what if I don't want to forget."

Phil bursts into flames.

In his head, his breathing becomes labored and he vomits bright green all over the snow.

In real life he doesn't move, doesn't say anything. Time freezes, and the wind stops blowing while snowflakes hang in mid-air.

The voice is screeching.

"I'm not gay." He's whispering it, his chest heavy, Dan's eyes on him are even heavier.

"I'm not gay," he repeats a little louder as if saying it would make it true.

His breathing shakes until Dan's inches away, looking up at him.

Then his breathing stops altogether.

The gray in his eyes reflects sadness and tells Phil that he doesn't believe him.

But then the pie is gone from Dan's grasp and Dan's placing a hand on his chest; Phil almost jerks away, but when the brittle ice doesn't seep into his skin, he remains still.

Confused and scared, Phil's eyes start well.

"I'm not gay," he's saying it like a prayer and he feels awful.

Dan's hand on his chest makes his heart skip ten beats, and when the expected numbness never comes he doesn't know what to do.

Dan's starting to lean in and Phil's not pushing him away. A non-gay person would push him away.

Dan doesn't press their lips together, not even when they're centimeters apart. Instead, he nuzzles his nose next to Phil's. Phil can feel his breath, he can feel his nose; he's not numb, everything is vivid, everything is just cold.

Phil ignites the kiss. All he feels is hunger and realizes that he's starving. His hand goes to the back of Dan's neck, his other near the middle of Dan's back, forcing him closer.

He's cold; everything about Dan is cold, but it's bearable and it doesn't hurt. At least not physically.

Dan is kissing back and everything is a blizzard. Chest to chest, nose to nose, mouths crashing, hair tangled.

It's not enough.

...

...

Phil has come to a conclusion.

He pulls two all nighters and googles just about every thought that jumps to mind.

His conclusion is written at the bottom of the ocean. Where burying it underneath trillion grains of sand sounds much more appealing than allowing it to surface. For this conclusion to touch the air, would mean sacrifice.

What would his parents say? He wonders if he'll join his brother beyond the grave. If his mum will bake even more and if his dad's already rare conversations will disintegrate into absolutely nothing.

This conclusion hides underneath his seat when he hangs out in Devon's truck, his feet resting on the dash. He acts as normal as possible.

This conclusion hides especially well during his make out sessions with Brooke, which make him feel horrible, even more so because it's Dan's mouth he's picturing.

Phil's conclusion hides in the back of his father's book and hides in the bottom of his mum's brownie tin. It hides at school underneath all these exams.

But when Phil's next to Dan, who's much closer than usual, his conclusion tangles on his tongue.

"I'm gay."

...

...

Kissing Brooke is like he's trapped in a five hundred degree sauna for three hours straight.

She's so stickily warm, her breath more often than not ends up blistering his face while her fingernails scratch his skin. It's plenty more work than it is joyful and now that he knows he doesn't really like girls, everything's making much more sense.

He should break up with her.

He knows this. He knows this every time she's curled up next to him, smiling, kissing his cheek, touching his body. She must think he's devoted himself to Jesus or some shit, for his lack of sex drive around her is generally concerning for a teenage boy.

But every time his mouth opens and he finds himself forming 'we should break up', the words end up seeping back into his lungs, buried alongside his conclusion.

So he ends up kissing her back and filling the spaces with thoughts of snow.

...

...

Kissing Dan couldn't be anymore different.

Where Brooke is like the savanna, Dan is like a snowstorm.

Dan's lips are firm, his face stone in Phil's hands, his body rock under his touch. And when they kiss, Phil's stomach never fails to flop, and the friction in his jeans always seems to be there.

They usually kiss until Phil's lips are purple and his hands are blue.

Phil's heart swells and he's never spent so much time in the forest.

...

...

Devon notices his absence.

Phil tells him he's been with Brooke.

But, he's not so sure Devon believes him.

...

...

Winter formal is in a month and Brooke's expecting a proper proposal.

Phil's chest heaves even thinking about another month having to endure the heat of Brooke's breath down his neck.

"You should totally pretend to propose," Devon suggests between chews, "that'd be pretty hilarious if you ask me."

"Then why don't you do it." Phil doesn't mean for his tone to be so aggressive, but even the mere thought of marrying Brooke destroys any gleam of happiness. Devon's expression says 'what's your problem?' but his mouth says,

"Maybe I will."

"You're asking someone?"

"Yep," Devon's features go smug as he takes a swig of juice.

"Who?"

"Macy Berkin," Devon says her name with a wink in his tone. Phil gasps.

"Macy Berkin's a shrewd bitch,"

"What's your beef with Macy?"

"She once told the entire school I spend my free time feeding hamsters to cats"

"I hate you."

...

...

So apparently Devon has been talking to Macy for weeks now and Phil is just now finding out.

"You're an awful friend."

"Well apparently you're just so up your girlfriends ass to pay any attention to me."

"Why are you so needy."

They're smiling and Macy just accepted Devon's invitation to winter formal.

Devon pulls out his phone stares at the screen, he sighs before saying, "What a faggot."

Needles hit Phil's ears. His chest plummets, sinks to the bottom of the ocean.

"My brother needs me to pick him up, I can drop you off first if you want."

Phil's ears are ringing, he doesn't say anything. He's overreacting, isn't he?

"Phil," Devon's saying, snapping his fingers trying to grab his attention. Phil turns his head and looks at him.

"That's fine."

It's not fine.

...

...

Dan's hair is darker, and so are his eyes.

Phil's not quite sure if Dan's noticed, if he even knows, but it's just easier not to ask questions.

So he doesn't

Instead he says, "Maybe we should take down the decorations." He's referring to the Christmas tree.

"I like it like that."

"But having decorations up after Christmas makes them less special."

"I don't think so."

Phil looks over, and Dan's eyes are on the tree.

"Makes me think of you." Dan says as his eyes avert to Phil. Phil swallows and his chest implodes.

But he smiles and he smiles even harder when Dan's sat across from him and is touching his arm and placing his lips on his knuckles.

He's really happy when he's with Dan.

...

...

It's not that he's meant to avoid Devon, it's just that every time he sees his face, he hears the word faggot over and over as if they were darts, and his chest was the dart board.

So instead he hangs with Brooke, even sits with her one day at lunch, abandoning his confused friend who ends up at Macy's table where the girls are swooning over him.

"Are you okay?" Brooke asks when they're alone.

"Uh yeah," Phil says it like it's a question. He doesn't think there's anything wrong, well, besides everything.

"Oh well it just seems- well, you know," Brooke trails off and Phil wants to punch her.

"Uh not really," he says.

"I mean you just seem kind of depressed is all." She's looking at him innocently, with doe eyes as if being cute would dismiss her claim. Too bad that doesn't work on Phil.

"What?" He seems depressed?

"I've been wanting to say this for a while now- but you can talk about your brother whenever you want, you know. I'll always-"

"Wait- wait I'm not depressed about my brother."

"You don't have to suppress it Phil, being depressed is nothing to be ashamed of." Brooke's tone is soft like some kind of school councilor. When the fuck did she become some kind of therapist? Irritation flashes in Phil's vision as she touches his knee and gently smiles up at him.

"What the fuck Brooke, I'm not depressed," his words stab her kindness like knights with swords to a malicious dragon. His eyebrows are drawn together and his chest feels tight; a frown embeds on his lips. Her smile disappears and she pulls her hand away.

He stands up, anger clear in his movements, yet he's not sure why he's so mad.

"I have to go." His voice is gruff as he grabs his jacket and turns for the door. Brooke doesn't say anything more.

...

...

"Do I seem depressed to you?"

"Sometimes."

"What?" Irritation doesn't override him this time, maybe because Dan says it like he isn't making assumptions.

"I don't know, sometimes I can feel your sadness."

"Oh," Phil's looking into his lap then Dan's got his face in his hands, it's cold, but Phil's learned to love the cold.

They kiss once, then twice, and some more.

Phil pulls away to say, "I don't mean to be sad."

"I know."

...

...

The more Phil thinks, the worse he feels; he's a cheater, he's a liar, and he's an avoider.

He's cheating on Brooke.

He's lying to his parents.

And he's avoiding Devon.

Technically he's cheating on Dan, a thought that makes him want to throw up.

And when he says, "I've got a girlfriend," and Dan's body tenses and his eyes slip to glass, he sort of regrets it.

"What do you mean," Dan's asking, venom breaking his words.

"I've had a girlfriend for three months now."

"You've never talked about her."

Venom bites Phil in the neck.

"I never thought she mattered."

"Are you going to break up with her?"

Venom forces Phil to the ground.

He doesn't answer for a moment, he's just struggling to breathe.

"I don't know."

Dan's brows scrunch together.

"What do you mean

More venom.

"I- I'm not ready,"

"That's not fair."

Dan's eyes are the snake and Phil's breathing his last breaths.

"I'm sorry," are his last words.

"No. Fuck you Phil," Dan leaves and everything goes black.

Oh.

That didn't go too well.

...

...

He wishes Dan would understand, wishes he would understand that Phil is simply hiding behind Brooke, that telling people about his conclusion will most definitely change their opinion of him. And he's just not ready for that.

He's sitting in his living room, curled up on the sofa when he notices the heavy fall of snow.

And it doesn't stop.

It doesn't stop for three days.

He's never seen so much snow.

No one leaves the house for three days until Phil is throwing on his jacket and his hat because he misses Dan, and enough is enough.

It's near impossible to walk through that amount of snow, so Phil pulls a sled out of the shed and hopes to god he doesn't hit a tree on the way down.

He doesn't and he's actually finding joy in sled riding down to the tallest tree. He wonders why he hasn't done this sooner.

The hill ends and Phil soon becomes aware that he's pretty much stuck down here. He walks the small distance until he sees the Christmas tree. It looks like the snow took out a lot of the ornaments.

Dan doesn't show up right away, not until Phil sees him tucked up against a tree branch. Phil's looks up at him.

"Why are you here?" Dan's voice is sort of nasty, but the anger has died down.

Phil doesn't answer his question but instead says, "Please come down."

Dan hesitantly obeys, and with swift movements he's swinging down to the ground, and when he hits the snow it doesn't break beneath his feet.

"Is this you?" Phil's asking, referencing the ridiculous amount of snow.

"What's it to you?"

"You've buried my entire town," Phil says.

"That's not my problem." Dan crosses his arms and Phil attempts to move closer to him, though the snow is making it extremely difficult. "Maybe you should stop being such an asshole then-"

Phil grabs Dan, the coldness shocking his fingers ever so slightly, and soon he's pulling him in and their lips are touching. Dan shoves him off, and his eyes are glistening.

"It hurts," he chokes; his smart ass attitude has melted away.

"I'm sorry, but I'm trying."

"I was angry."

"I know. This isn't exactly the most ideal relationship."

"I know," Dan replies, looking at his mouth.

They're kissing again. Phil pulls away and says, "Dan?"

"What?"

"Being with you is different."

"I know."

...

...

When Phil gets home, Devon's sitting on his bed.

"Okay?" Phil says poised and walks over to his desk, setting his bookbag down.

"Where have you been?" Devon asks, staring at him. He reminds Phil of a wife waiting around for her husband to get home, ready to interrogate.

"Um, with Brooke," It's a lie, Phil's already failing.

"Really? Because I just talked to Brooke and she hasn't seen you all day." Devon says all savvy like. Well shit.

"Okay, Mr. Detective, when did you start stalking me?"

"Since you started ignoring my texts and being a dick to Brooke."

"I haven't been a dick to Brooke," Phil attempts to defend himself while plopping down in his desk chair.

"You ditch her all of the time."

"Oh, so you're best friends now?"

"Well, she's being a better friend than you are." Devon's tone goes cold and his words are humorless. Phil's mouth opens, but his defense is weak. He doesn't know how many more fights he can handle.

"You're avoiding me."

"Am not," Phil's quick to reply. "I've been busy."

"With what Phil? If you're not with Brooke and you're not with me, then what the fuck are you doing?"

Phil drowns in heat, vexation breaks every bone in his body, and his hand is twitching. Millions of words jumble in his head, most of them aren't appropriate and he knows that if he lets them out, it would be some kind of disjointed mess of syllables. The voice is screaming.

So he swallows, stands, and says, "Will you just fuck off Devon, Jesus."

But what he really wants to do is scream it a million times louder and punch holes in the ceiling. He settles for his fist against the wall instead.

It's silent and Phil's knuckles start to bleed.

"What the hell man," Devon's says so slowly it's almost funny, his voice going quiet. "What's wrong with you?"

Phil's chest shutters and he feels like his legs are going to give out. He sits down on the floor. He doesn't know why he's so fucking angry all of the time.

"Sorry." he says, but it sounds like he's drowning. Devon won't stop staring at him.

"Just tell me what's going on."

"I don't know if I can."

Devon stands and it looks like he's about to leave for a second until he's coming over and dropping down right beside Phil.

He sits and they both sit for what seems like hours. Devon iz waiting, he's waiting for Phil to be ready.

"I-" his chest fills with water.

"I like boys."

The ringing in Phil's ears is deafening, he's going to pass out, he's going to vomit, he's going to die. He's said it, he can't take it back. The words surfaced, they met the air, they beat flood in his lungs.

Phil can't breathe, he just can't. Devon's not saying anything.

"Oh." Phil can't look at him.

"Are you sure?" Devon's voice is grave, like Phil just told him something he didn't want to hear.

His insides explodes and he trembles.

"Yes," his voice cracks; he wants to be buried underneath twenty pounds of cement, especially when Devon questions,

"How do you know?"

How do you answer a question like that?

"I just do," he says.

"What if you're confused, what about Brooke-"

"I'm not confused Devon."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

...

...

Devon avoids him.

They play tag with this ignorant game. But Phil is actually pretty scared. Especially when Devon's shooting him looks from across the lunchroom after Brooke's hand has made it into his.

It's an awful feeling that consumes him, because he doesn't know if his best friend is his best friend anymore.

And that sort of hurts.

...

...

He ends up spilling everything to Dan.

He says, "I punched my wall and then I told my best friend that I'm gay."

Dan stares at him and the wind dies and the trees don't snarl together and Dan continues to stare at him because there's really nothing else he can do. Phil thinks he's going to cry.

But when his cheeks remain dry and the cold is still stinging them, he knows he won't.

And he craves Dan's comfort, he longs for a cold hand on his shoulder, on his chest, but when he has this, Phil is unsure as to why he still feels so awful.

He realizes, it's because Dan isn't the solution.

...

...

The solution rests between Devon's lips. It's a whole sentence, a simple couple of words to thaw the feeling that is swallowing Phil whole.

And as they're sitting in Devon's truck with the stereo turned all the way down and snow sticking to the windshield Devon says, "I don't care that you're gay, you're still my best friend."

Except it comes out as silence, and Devon's lips have moved an inch.

A black mist holds Phil captive and he can't help but look down, as if the bottom of the truck was quick sand offering him a sweet release.

He wants to take it, boy does he want to take it.

But the floor is just the floor and Devon's words of reassurance never come.

Instead the silence is shattered with, "What now?" and it's Phil saying this.

Devon doesn't know how to answer, so he says an honest, "I don't know."

...

...

He imagines how he'll come out to his parents.

They will be sat in the living room and Phil will clutch a warm drink until it's burning his fingers. He'll open his mouth, once, twice, three times before offering an, "I have something to say."

And when his parents look in his direction, he'll see the son they've already lost, then he'll pussy out.

"I got straight A's again."

His mum will smile and his dad will nod wondering why the hell he's bringing this up because it's nothing unusual.

Then Phil will stand, because he's been defeated with stares and then he'll curse his brother's grave for leaving him with the stupid task of fixing their parents.

But as he turns, his eyes land on the TV where two boys holding hands will appear and it's a sign. His dad goes for the remote.

But courage overrides him and he says, "I'm gay."

His words make it just above the sound of the television. His parent's eyes are thrown on him, but his mother's smile is gone and she says, "What?"

He repeats, "I'm gay."

And in a perfect world they rejoice, congratulate him for the courage, thank him for telling them.

But there and then, his mum would start to cry and his dad wouldn't say anything because he never does.

But Phil would breathe the truth, and sometimes that's all that matters.

...

...

Brooke's breath is hot on his neck, and he can't kiss her anymore.

It used to be okay, he used to be able to let her lips on his, and he used to be able to pretend, but now all he can see is white. All he can see is snow, and blizzards, and the cold, and Dan.

All he can see is Dan.

...

...

Phil notices something.

It's getting warmer.

Not by very much, but it's definitely getting warmer.

He notes this on the day he finds Dan almost naked standing next to their Christmas tree.

His chest is bare, paper pale, smooth, his shoulders curved, and his thighs soft. Phil's taken by surprise and says, "Dan?"

But Dan's lips are wired shut until Phil is touching him.

His fingers trailing over Dan's chest, hard like stone, like glass; it's cool, but not at all numbing.

Then there's static in his fingers, causing a frenzy in his veins.

He's shaking, but it's not the cold. He's turned on, and it's not fake.

Dan's whispering, "Touch me."

His words are soft, needy in Phil's ear. His chest is vibrating, a new and exciting sensation taking over. His lips are everywhere, and his hands probably touch every inch of flesh. And he wants to scream until his throat is raw and his lungs explode because Dan makes him feel so good, so so good.

So his breathing is hitched, and the gaps between them is filled, and Dan's hair isn't at all white anymore, and his eyes are browning from the inside out.

Phil doesn't know what that means, and he doesn't really care.

...

...

"His name is Dan," he tells her.

"And I can't breathe when I'm around him. I feel like I'm going crazy when he touches me. I want run in circles, I want to jump and fly and laugh and cry."

His words touch her ears, and she doesn't look repulsed.

Brittney stares at him.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because no one else will listen, because I don't think Devon' is my friend anymore, because my brother killed himself, because my mother will cry, because I think I love him."

"Oh," and the tension in the room breaks and bends its way around Phil's bones and chokes him until he's gasping for air.

"Brooke's my best friend," she says and Phil's heart is having a rebellion in his chest. "You've got to tell her."

And Phil will.

"I know," but Brittney doesn't look like she believes him.

"Devon will come around," she says, but it's not all that reassuring.

"I don't think so."

"I know him. He will. He loves you."

"I love him too."

A single tear shaped like a pearl releases itself from the black mist that has swallowed Phil whole.

And hits the floor the same time Brittney's heading for the door.

...

...

Dan brings him back to life when they stand behind a tree and they watch as the female fox is nursing her pups.

Phil feels a smile lifting his lip, and Dan's eyes don't stray, not even when Phil's putting a hand on his back and resting his chin on his shoulder.

And they watch and they watch because it's a beautiful scene and the snow is melting.

The mother curls herself around her young as if she were protecting them and they embrace her and bask in her warmth. Phil clutches Dan's shirt even tighter.

And he doesn't want to let go, never wants to let go, never wants to leave.

So he's pushing Dan up against a tree and he's kissing him. He's kissing him until he can't breathe and his lips are rubbed raw. He's kissing Dan for all the times he can't laugh or cry or run or jump.

The foxes are so beautiful, and so is Dan and what lurks in this forest never ceases to set Phil's heart on fire.

...

...

Winter formal is marked on the calendar and Phil forgot to get a suit.

So his mum is going nuts and Phil doesn't realize that Brooke's made arrangements with Macy Berkin. They're all riding in Devon's truck apparently, and when Phil asks about Brittney, Brooke says, "She's going with Jacob Hockey."

But Phil can picture her face as Brooke tells her to find her own ride and Phil pictures her face when Brooke's calling her fat. And Brooke's not all that great of a friend.

The ride over to the school is painfully awful, the only thing breaking the silence is the girl's useless chatter. Phil sits shotgun after Brooke volunteers him, and all he can do is stare at Devon's knuckles as they grip onto the steering wheel.

They plan to eat afterwards, but what Phil doesn't know is that this is the beginning of the end.

He buys their tickets and he gets Brooke punch when she asks and he dances with her until his feet hurt. He laughs and he smiles, but when she kisses him his stomach buckles and the music picks up.

But he isn't dancing, instead he's staring at Brooke, who's hair has gone wild and looks to be having the time of her life. Brooke, who's such a beautiful, amazing girl, who's got some work to do, but he's definitely lucky to have. And he's used her, and he's wasted her. Before Phil knows it, his mouth is opening, and the room is completely still.

"I'm gay," he whispers.

But the room's not still at all, and lights are flashing while the music covers his words ten feet under. Brooke's dancing, unaware that he's said something. She's screaming, "What?" and there's a smile on her face. The voice is screeching.

"I'm gay," he says louder, but she's not listening.

"I'm gay," again.

"I'm gay," and again until he's shouting it, but the music is still pulsing, and no one can hear him.

Except there's multiple sets of eyes on him, and the music had started to fade. And Brooke heard him and she's stopped dancing, stopped smiling, stopped breathing.

He's smiling though, he's smiling when she grips him and dragging him out into the cold. The door slams shut behind them, and the many eyes on them disappears.

Phil isn't smiling anymore when she says,"What did you say?" The ache is in her words.

"I'm gay," he whispers it this time, and all the air in the world has been sucked dry. The parking lot is cold but the snow has melted.

Time passes before he's being slapped in the face. Hard.

His face stings red, but the feeling in his chest is almost gone. Almost.

Brooke's saying, "What the hell," but she's crying, "I love you."

And it's hard for Phil to hear, because he's done this, and there's no one else to blame but himself and the universe.

He walks home after Brooke releases a capsule of nasty words from her lips and Phil doesn't blame her.

It takes thirty minutes to get there, the sidewalk seems much smoother at night, and the town is much more peaceful. He's crossed his arms and he's smiling to himself.

He has come to another conclusion; he's crazy.

When he arrives home he's half tempted to find Dan, kiss him under the moon, see the grass under his shoes.

He doesn't, because he's overwhelmed with courage so he finds his mum in the kitchen, and his dad at the table.

His mum looks over, surprised she says,"You're home early, did something happen?"

But he's smiling and he doesn't feel scared so he says, "I'm gay."

And he's out, and it should solve every problem in the book, no more pretending, no more lying, no more feeling a weight crushing his ribs, no more, no more.

Except his parents aren't rejoicing, and his dad's staring at him, but he keeps on smiling. And his mum doesn't cry, instead she says, "Christ Phil, just go to fucking bed," she spits it as she drops a pie tin on the counter. Phil's mum never swears.

Phil doesn't care, and when the stairs creak on the way up, he looks at the room at the end of the hall with its door wide open and all of its demons zooming past him.

Phil runs to the door and slams the fucker shut until the house is rattling and the windows are breaking; the stairs collapse and the walls fall down.

Except that never happens and Phil's breathing heavily but he's smiling.

His room has never felt so clean, like it has just been repainted, like the carpets had been steamed, and the windows had been replaced.

He lays on top of his comforter, suit in all, and stares at the ceiling. The room is dark and the house is warm. He starts laughing and he laughs until he's crying and he's crying until he's dreaming.

Phil's come to the conclusion that he's crazy.

...

...

"You look good in a suit."

Phil's eyes peel open. He's blinking before he's sitting up. Sleep still fights his vision for domination but when he sees Dan at the end of his bed, illuminated by the moon's gentle glow streaming in from the window, sleep cowards away.

"Dan?" his voice is fuzzy and his vision is still out of focus; confusion fits his tone.

"Shh," Dan whispers gently and his voice purrs, soothing Phil into his sheets. Dan starts climbing onto his bed.

Phil's fully awake now and aware that Dan's nose is inches from his own. His eyes are warm, and his hair is brown at the tips.

When he touches Phil's cheek, there is no coldness, his palm is no longer hard like stone, but soft like flesh. Phil melts into it. His chest is imploding and the voice is having a concert.

Their noses are touching, cold is still yet to come, except it never does, not even when Dan's lips move over his, less like a blizzard, more like a person.

Phil's putting his hand on Dan's chest just above his heart, the beat of it tells Phil stories upon stories.

He's bleeding onto Dan, dissolving into his warmth. Warmth, warmth, warmth.

Phil's insides are screaming, their bodies tangle on the bed. Dan removes Phil's jacket and tosses it to the floor; his pants follow, then goes Dan's.

They've never been this close. They're kissing feverishly, and Phil's never felt so on fire. It's not the savanna, and it's not a snowstorm.

It's Dan, and he's gripping him harder than anything and moaning so loud he knows his parents will hear.

He doesn't care, he doesn't fucking care.

He bites the place where Dan's neck meets his shoulder, and he's kissing him up to his ear. Breathe, breathe, he has to remind himself.

But he can't.

And that's okay.

The sheets are everywhere, and Dan's got his fist balled around them, and the bed is shaking along with the rattling of Phil's chest. So close, they're so close that it's impossible to be any closer.

Phil's squeezing his eyes shut and when he opens them, Dan's breath is no longer snowflakes, and everything is brown.

"Dan," he's whimpering because it's all he can do right now.

"It's okay," Dan tells him and Phil believes it.

Dan's holding his face now and his head is on the pillow.

"Don't look for me tomorrow," Dan's voice is so smooth Phil hardly catches what he's saying.

"What?" He's fighting to keep his eyes open. He's holding onto Dan's waist as the blankets shelter them from the cold.

"You've released me, Phil," Dan's words are fading as Phil's trying so hard to beat the sleep, but he's feeling drugged. He's seeing glimpses of Dan's face behind his eyelids, and his cheeks are wet.

"Dan," he's saying, but his voice is barely breaking the sound barrier.

"The snow has melted."

...

...

Phil wakes up to an empty room filled with the cold, filled with the dark.

He's naked. His suit thrown to the floor.

He's looking over, and Dan isn't there. He looks back to the floor; Dan's clothes are gone.

Was it a dream?

Then he remembers the feel of Dan against him, the feel his palm pressed against his cheek, the feel of warmth, the brown.

It couldn't have been a dream.

He races off the bed, throwing on a pair of pants, and a tee shirt and he's saying Dan's name. He doesn't stop saying Dan's name until every light in the house is on, until he's looked in every room, until he's in the kitchen, and his parents are at the top of the staircase asking 'what the hell is going on?'

Even then he doesn't stop; he's throwing on his hat and he's throwing on his jacket. Everything is starting to ache and he's starting to panic.

He's running, and the moon's light is bleeding across the forest floor, along the tops of the trees and over the dead grass.

Phil's running and he's screaming Dan's name and he doesn't stop, never wants to stop. Not even when he reaches the tallest tree. He doesn't stop from there, he searches further and further until he's seen every inch of land, until Dan doesn't appear from the shadows, until the moon is gone, and daylight starts to break in the corner of the sky.

He stops only when he reaches the end of the beginning, he stops only when he remembers Dan saying,

"You've released me, Phil."

Only then does he stop, only then does he realize that the snow won't fall anymore.

That the blizzard is gone.

...

...

He returns to the forest for three more days and misses two days of school.

But Dan's not coming back.

And it takes him a certain amount of time for that to sink in.

So he sits down at the tallest tree and waits for the fact to immerse itself into his skull.

He realizes that it never will.

The male fox emerges from beyond the trees. They're making eye contact and the fox freezes.

Phil chokes on what should be a sob.

And instead of running, the fox is inching forward. Slow, stealthy, Phil sees Dan's face of concentration.

"Stephen would have loved you," he says but his words are muffled and he wonders if this is what his brother had felt when he took his own life.

Phil's grabbing onto the grass beside him, then he's ripping it from the earth and he's throwing it into the sky.

And the white fox reminds him of snow.

...

...

Phil sits down with his mum and his dad.

It's then when his mother cries and makes it about herself and his father says nothing because he never does.

Phil doesn't think he'd want to hear his opinion on the subject anyway.

...

...

He goes to school where nothing really happens.

Everyone knows now and when Brooke sees him in the hallway she runs to the bathroom where she cries until she's choking.

Phil understands what she's going through.

Two football players shout faggot at him once, but he likes to pretend that it didn't rattle his insides and inevitably cause them to collapse.

It did.

But that was about it.

The walls of the school remained intact, the floor never sunk, and Phil never got a penis spray painted onto his locker.

He was only left with a hollow feeling.

Mr. Benson asked him to stay after class again.

He gave him his missing assignments and asked if he was doing alright.

Phil's not really doing alright, so when he says, "No sir, not really," he means it.

...

...

Phil stole some liquor from his dad, so when he ends up outside Devon's house at 3 am on a Wednesday, it wasn't really the best decision he's ever made.

Unlike Phil's own window, Devon's just had to be five feet from the ground.

But that doesn't stop him from slamming his fists against it, as if having shattered glass embedded in his flesh wouldn't be the worst thing in the world.

Devon's pushing it open and Phil is stepping back; he suddenly feels very heavy.

"Hi," he's saying, and the world is breaking apart.

Devon stares down at him, and there's a second when Phil thinks that the window will be slammed shut and he'll be left in the dark.

But Devon isn't doing that.

Instead, he's moving over and Phil's climbing up the side of the house until he's falling inside.

The room is warm yet Phil misses the cold.

He doesn't pick himself up off of the floor because his heart is much too heavy. But he does look up at Devon just as the waves start hitting him, over and over again until Phil's underwater, and the ocean is rough, and the salt water burns his eyes.

"He's gone," Phil says like he's choking, like he's drowning.

Devon's crouching down, then he's putting his arms around him.

And they're drowning together.

...

...

Phil still goes to the forest occasionally, when his friends are being annoying, and when he's got a book he'd like to read.

Spring washes over the town and Phil had forgotten how much he likes the spring.

It's warm and even though he misses the snow, the warmth is nice too.

The Christmas tree only has got a couple ornaments left, including Jack Frost, until Phil's plucking him from the branch and throwing him as hard as he can.

...

...

Things are better now.

Phil would like to say that him and Devon are back to normal, but they're not.

Devon tells him, "You're still my best friend," and it's half the reassurance, but it's enough for Phil.

Phil finds that he actually likes Brittney, for they end up paired together for a project and become pretty close.

He doesn't really tell Devon this.

But Brittney is funny and they end up with a D on the project because none of gets done.

He also makes a new friend called Cameron, Cameron is also gay. They're the only out kids in the school.

Small things to occupy his time with.

But Dan is a lasting memory and he can still feel the ice in his veins, Dan's lips on his mouth, and his fingers on his skin.

And he can't forget.

He doesn't want to forget.

...

...

This is the part where the story ends.

Except it doesn't.

Except Phil chooses to take a detour through town one morning, when Devon couldn't pick him up, and Cameron had jazz band.

And he's traveling through a mass of people who keep going when he stops to cross the street. His headphones are in, and he's got the volume up so loud his brain is turning to mush, so when he looks up and spots a familiar face in a crowd of ten, he makes sure to do a triple take.

He's staring now, slowly going to remove his headphones. The voice starts singing.

There's a boy across the street with the deepest color of eyes and woodland hued hair.

It takes him a second to meet Phil's stare but when he does it feels like a blizzards hit.

Phil can't stop his feet until he's stood right in front of him, taking a closer look at the boy whose skin takes a shade a few tones darker than his own.

Phil breathes out a "Hi," and the boy smiles.

"Hi," he returns.

Phil bursts into flames.

"I'm Dan," he says,

"I know."

Brown's never looked so good.

...

...

This is the end.


End file.
